


Pick

by yeaka



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Diaval has to decide where to make his nest.





	Pick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PockyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyGhost/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for pockyghost’s “22. “Choose me” Diaval/Captain” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list). (I arbitrarily named the captain John.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Maleficent or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He rouses from a trying dream to find himself still nestled safely in bed. John nuzzles deeper into his pillow, inhaling the earthy scent of his lover, and then stretches out a hand, wanting to pull that lover closer.

There’s no one there, and he squints his eyes open against the starlit room. Diaval isn’t lying where he fell asleep, curled in John’s arms, but seated at the edge of the bed, silhouetted in the pale glow of the window. He’s staring out it, and John can only see the faintest sliver of his face, but it’s enough to find the frown. His expression is cold, hard, but John’s long since learned to see the warmth below the surface. He reaches further out, stretching to place his hand against Diaval’s back. The light shirt he wears is John’s own, like most of the clothes he uses when he visits.

They’re only _visits_ , and that’s John’s deepest sorrow. He imagines Diaval’s is missing the Moors. Diaval glances over his shoulder at the touch, frown still fixed in place.

Around a yawn, John asks, “What’s wrong?”

Diaval looks sharply away. Evidently, it was the wrong thing to say, but that’s always easy with Diaval. Diaval mutters callously, “You know we can never truly be together, of course.”

Even though Diaval isn’t looking to see it, John lifts a brow. The semi-permanent dent in his bed says otherwise, and he counters, “It felt as though we were...” He almost added ‘last night,’ but then, it’s still that night. Diaval snorts.

He pushes roughly off the mattress, clamouring to his feet, and stumbles in his attempt to straighten—sometimes, when he moves too quickly, he seems to forget what body he’s in. Then he’s cursing below his breath and pacing across the floor, as though trying to wear holes into it with his fury. “Legs are so much _weaker_ than wings,” he starts, as he so often does. “This mouth is inefficient, these arms are all but useless! This castle is a disgrace!” He doesn’t mean that. John knows it and simply stays quiet, waiting the tirade out, as he’s learned to do. “How can you live here, while I am out there in such beauty? And yet I can’t ask you to leave, not when...” He trails bitterly off, as though only realizing it himself, but John understands. He has to stay. He’s the captain of Aurora’s guards, and he has to keep her safe. Diaval wants that.

Diaval’s said, now and then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he’s glad of John’s position. He feels better knowing that she’s in John’s hands. John’s sworn to serve her better than he ever did her predecessor. 

Maleficent, on the other hand, hardly needs guarding, though John knows Diaval leaves for her. The thought of her pushes John to say, “The queen and her godmother live apart, and yet they see one another often, and their love, albeit a different kind than ours, is still strong.”

“But Aurora doesn’t need Maleficent to give her a voice,” Diaval mumbles too quietly. He finally slows his pace, looking back again, and John’s held fast by that gaze. “If I live here, I’m stuck in this form... but if I live there... I’m alone.”

“You’re never alone,” John murmurs. He wants nothing more than for Diaval to stay. He also won’t hold Diaval back. And as long Diaval has Maleficent, there’s more for him in the Moors.

Yet he bristles, gorgeous eyes drawing into a glare at the declaration. He asks testily, “Do you want me to go?”

John blinks and corrects, “Of course not—”

“Then which would you have me choose? If you would rather me stay with her—”

“Damnit, Diaval, you know I would have you choose me.” John has to stop himself and take a steadying breath. Then he repeats with more control, dead serious, “Choose me.”

Diaval stares at him for a long moment. It makes John wonder if he’s said the wrong thing again. Then Diaval scowls and grumbles, “I am more beautiful in my other form.”

“You’re the _most_ beautiful in this,” John insists.

“I move slower.”

John lifts the covers, finally giving up on sleep, and shuffles to the other side of the bed. “I’ll take you on my horse, anywhere you wish to go, as fast as you like.”

“I can’t sing like this.”

John drops his feet to the floor and rises, coming closer to promise, “I would listen to your screeching in any form.”

Diaval looks like he wants to scowl harder, but by then, John’s already on him. John lifts his palm to Diaval’s cheek, marveling at the tiny, intricate details that press into his skin. John brushes back into Diaval’s silken hair, basks in the softness, and tilts his head to bring their lips together. Diaval doesn’t fight him. Diaval’s arms lift to his middle, drawing around him—something that can’t be done in the body of a bird.

The kiss lingers, warm and intimate, full of tongue, and when they part, John repeats, “Choose me.”

Diaval presses their foreheads together. His handsome face is slightly sullen, but John can feel their palpable connection. Diaval slowly runs his hands up John’s body, pausing to squeeze his chest through his nightshirt, to smooth along his shoulders, and to cup his jaw. Then Diaval mutters, “Will you shave this for me?”

John laughs. He knows his beard’s always puzzled Diaval, and he lets Diaval rifle through it as he concedes, “Yes. I’ll shave it.”

So Diaval nods. He lets John tug him back towards the bed, even push him down again, and they both climb beneath the blankets. John drapes them out, and Diaval shifts to rest his head on John’s shoulder.

He quietly admits, “I knew I would choose you... I just wanted to hear that I was wanted.”

“You’re very wanted,” John promises, and he kisses Diaval’s pale forehead before he’s lulled back to sleep.


End file.
